jim wagner – My Writing

Black Roses

The bucket jostled a little, and a small amount of its sudsy contents sloshed onto the hardwood floor. On his knees, bent

Chance had left the house the morning concerned for Trish, but that was nothing new. He knew she didn’t like being on

“Angel Shot.” came the almost quiet, lilting voice. The bartender looked up at the pretty girl in a sleek black dress standing

It was four am, an hour past close, and Jim was the last to leave Nightborn. He’s been double checking the cleanliness

Being alone didn’t bother Jim, typically. But on this particular night it did; as it had been for the past fifty-four years.

He was born James Isaak Wagner in the winter of 1918. His father had been a soldier in the German army during